“I want to proclaim to my transgender siblings that I believe in a God who knows your name, even if that name hasn’t been chosen yet.”
Biblicists see the Bible as a flat text with equal authority given to all passages. They also tend to believe there is a Bible verse somewhere to answer every question imaginable.
The stress of living in an age of COVID-19 is revealing all of us to be more of who we have been. It is amplifying our personalities – for good or for ill. Normally hidden emotions now rise to the surface, and we are more easily laid bare.
Although I’m not quite ready to repent of it, I see that I’ve become one of those people who sees the world only through what suits me and my wants.
If you buy into the popular myth – and faulty metric – that a church should devote no more than 50 percent of its budget to personnel costs, you may risk starving your congregation of its energy or life force.
A friend quoted from memory lines from Langston Hughes’ poem, “Mother to Son.” I was reminded that it is the very definition of white privilege to think we can just sit down on the stairs because the work of racial justice is hard.
What troubles me most about the people I meet for the first time at the cemetery is how many of them failed to live life beyond basic expectations.
How my spinal cord injury happened during routine surgery two years ago hasn’t mattered to me for a good while; but the why and wherefore still get me. Now I’m just angry. And being a good Christian, I feel guilty for being angry.
Congregations that open themselves to full participation by those in the LGBTQ community are likely to begin hearing the other side of the story they have missed for so long, and that story includes a lot of hidden pain.